For a moment, she felt it; the resolution to jump and surrender to nothing, and again she had the relief that it could all be over soon.
But the grip inside her breast made her double over when she thought about dying.
Nothing had changed for her and she knew nothing ever would.
But the numbness was gone, along with the anguish that drove her to the river.
Something had changed.
She wanted to live.
The girl gazed into her mother’s eyes.
Even so many years after her death, there was still so much life in that gaze, the passion she had for living, and the desire to pass that gift on to her unborn child.
The girl gripped the crystal, her fingers slick from rivulets of blood. Then she thought about the Sorcerer and his offer, searching for a hint of judgment from the woman in the portrait.
But there was none.
Instead her mother was radiant.
Her likeness seemed to stretch beyond the paint to come back to life.
The girl closed her eyes and shook her head.
When she opened them again, the woman in the portrait glowed even more, the glaze of dreams gone from her expression.
Then the girl heard a soft soprano teasing at the edge of her hearing, a mother beseeching her daughter to come closer, closer.
There was that squeeze inside her breast again. The girl wondered if she was losing her mind.
“Mama?” she whispered, shaking her head in an attempt to regain her senses.
“Come to me, my child.”
The voice was louder, ringing with the clarity of a silver bell, and the painted gaze grew intense.
A wave of heat wrapped around the girl, a blanket she couldn’t touch.
Then she caught the scent of lilies, her mother’s favorite flowers and she sobbed.